You Called Me
by 76playthings
Summary: smut warning here It's been precisely 4 days, 23 hours, and 11 minutes since Dean found out he was maybe a little bit, minimally, microscopically, gay.


**Pairing:** Dean/Castiel  
><strong>Length:<strong> Oneshot  
><strong>Rating:<strong> NC-17  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> Don't own, wish I did, cause the best I can do is say "Now Kiss," while SPN's on, but the kicker is that they never do! Anyway, yep, not mine.

It's been precisely 4 days, 23 hours, and 11 minutes since Dean found out he was maybe a little bit, minimally, microscopically, gay. And really it was Castiel's fault, cause with all the intense stares he'd gotten over the last week, how was he not supposed to react? Sure, it was creepy as fuck, and the fact that when a busty blonde with all the right words in her mouth whispering in his ear and spidering her hands under his shirt didn't turn him on as much as the fact that Castiel was staring, blatantly and intensely at him scared the shit out of him, but seriously, holy _fuck_ those eyes.

And that fact that some freakin' sap dribbled from his lips about 'fucking beautiful blue eyes' while her tongue was swirling over his navel and her stubbornly brown eyes were blown, well, that was just another cog in the wheel. Never mind that she'd huffed, gotten up and swished out the door and he didn't even have the heart to stop her because his hand was already on his dick and his eyes were already closed and the hotel sheets underneath him felt suspiciously like a trenchcoat.

But that was just it, 4 days, almost 5 of jacking off to the imagined feel of stubble against his skin, to the mind-voice crying 'Dean' brokenly which sounded a hell of a lot like Castiel and the haze of _need-want-feel-oh god-angel_ that the steam couldn't entirely account for. Oh, and there was the more than obvious looks Sam was giving him and the grin that he swore the next time he saw he was gonna punch off of his face. All interspersed with the very reason for this life or death, gay or not gay, or maybe just Cas gay; the freakin' stares.

Really, it's Castiel's fault that 4 days, 23 hours and 53 minutes since Dean's found out that he sort of maybe might, just might want to feel if Castiel's as electric underneath his fingers as his wings lead him to believe, the angel finds him arching up into his own palm and muttering an almost intelligible litany of 'Cas' as his fingers swirl and slide. And it's really not his fault that the way the angel looks at him through eyes which almost crackle with power and something else makes Dean's breath catch and his fingers clench and then the world grow hazy as he loses it in the spotlight of a blue eyed stare.

The way Cas just stands there, watching, the way his chest barely rises with each breath, the way his eyes darken and the air seems to heat up around him, pulsing, well, Dean cannot be held responsible for what he does after that- and if anyone asks, it was all Castiel's fault. It's been about a minute since Castiel's shown up, enough time for Dean to wipe a sheet across his stomach and kick himself fluidly from the bed and over to the other man in 3 short steps.

Fuck it, seriously, fuck it. Castiel's still just watching. And that's it. That's seriously it. Dean doesn't even register the "You called me," muttered before his mouth's on Castiel's neck and his hands are pushing the trench coat off of shoulders which are definitely not female. His tongue makes a hot trail up, and there's stubble, but that's good, because the little noise that thrums through Castiel's throat at the way Dean nibbles his jaw is definitely worth it, all the stubble in the world.

Castiel's skin's burning against his fingers, the tie a mere hindrance before it's loosened and whoever supplies the business shirts that his angel wears should really invest on sewing their buttons better, not that the way they're currently scattered like a plastic hail storm around them isn't turning Dean on like fuck.

_What the hell am I do-, Jesusfuck I'm so gay_. The thought flutters through Dean's head before he tells himself that angels don't technically have genders so really Cas could just be a really manly chick. Which, hell, is convincing enough for now.

His lips press harsh kisses against strong collar bones, teeth mark out his signature on Cas's neck, and it's a mixture of _must have-want-need to-please-jesusfuck_ that has Dean's mouth moving down the angel's chest and fingers working on pants which really should have been designed without fucking buttons. And for fuck's sake, the angel's still staring at him, even if his eyes are blown so there's only a small ring of blue around the outside, even if his fingers keep clenching and unclenching with each swirl of Dean's tongue and his breath's coming rapidly accompanied with noises which puts anything he's ever heard come out of any girl's mouth far behind him. Because seriously, he could listen to Castiel trying to suppress whimpers all day.

Chapped lips are parted, and a tongue far too red puts pressure on them, wetting the skin so it shines, and dammit that is really unfair because Dean's really trying to concentrate on what he's doing here and his hands keep fumbling with buttons before he finally pops them loose and his jaw drops, cause if that's not the freakin' sexiest thing he's seen, then he doesn't know what is. And he knows deep down that he should really be a lot less eager to put someone else's cock in his mouth but that's really swept aside by the fact that Castiel's not wearing any underwear.

"Not…underwear," Dean manages to choke out, and the deep, broken baritone which almost stutters, "I did not deem undergarments necessary." almost makes him laugh with the words it forms, but the way they're said makes him freaking raring to go again. Except then, as he leans forward, Castiel speaks again.

"What are you doing?"

_Hell if I know_, Dean thinks, but he manages to give a brief, "You," before his hand moves of its own accord to Castiel's hip, and his tongue is circling skin that's really too soft to be casing the hardness that it is. Dean thinks that the thud of Castiel's head against the soft plaster wall, and the grunted, "Oh," is response enough.

As he ponders that, hollows his cheeks, and sucks - cause, that's what you do, right? Dean notes smugly that Castiel's not staring anymore. But well, maybe he's more than just a little bit gay. Maybe, if his angel keeps making the noises he is, well then, maybe, he's a _lot_ gay.


End file.
